


The World You Know

by Face_of_Poe



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Canon Era, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M, Past Infidelity, Past Relationship(s), Post-War, Pre-Presidency, They Are Asking Him to Lead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 03:39:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16233449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Face_of_Poe/pseuds/Face_of_Poe
Summary: They are asking him to lead - and doing the best he can does not allow for past regrets to hold sway over the present course.





	The World You Know

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dreamlittleyo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/gifts).



“It truly ought be Hamilton.”

No great surprise, to hear the words from Morris’s mouth. In truth, George supposes he reached the same conclusion some time ago, a certainty that did not so much dawn as creep insidiously to the forefront of his mind, despite his best efforts to relegate it to those darkest recesses alongside banished memories and deepest regrets.

Impossible to say which had greater bearing on the revelation – the years Alexander spent holding the Continental Army’s headquarters together armed with naught more than a quill; or the fastidious manner in which he approached his selection for the convention, the tireless way in which he has lobbied in support of the fruits of their labors ever since.

The unapologetic calculation of his insistence – _It must be General Washington; for only General Washington might lend a new government the legitimacy necessary to endure._

“You might argue he is young –”

“I might argue,” George counters levelly, “that he lacks the requisite experience.”

Morris laughs in his face. “His pocketbook may have chosen the law; you may rest assured his mind remains restless as ever.” As if George had not witnessed Alexander’s six-hour philosophizing on the structure of the new government for himself. “It really ought be Hamilton,” Morris repeats. “Call on him. The passion of youth will carry this grand experiment further than the wheezing lectures of we old men in our dotage.”

Not precisely helpful, ignorant as Robert Morris is to his present dilemma.

 

x---x

 

Too often has long separation been the reality of their marriage, but in the hours and days that follow, George finds himself glad for the circumstances necessitating Martha’s continued presence at Mount Vernon. He wanders New York streets, contemplating a question he knows he must ask, and an answer he knows will follow, but still they will obey the formalities dictated by the ceremony of the moment.

_ink-stained fingers turning the key in the lock with an assuredness not to be found in the nervous, darting gaze and_

No tradition; no precedent. Just weary men at risk of buckling under the impossible weight of this moment in time. They accomplished the impossible, and accomplished it again and yet somehow, it some ways, it feels as though the true work is only just beginning.

_soft skin at his nape wholly at odds with the roughly calloused hand curling along his jaw and_

And yet, he can also recall all too vividly the number of times he felt much the same during the war. The victory at Saratoga, and winning French patronage; losing Philadelphia, and taking it back; emerging from winter encampment at Valley Forge with an army half-starved but preparing to fight on nonetheless.

_a panting gasp caught between fear and desperation and he should not find allure in equal measure but_

Losing Alexander, and then persuading him back into the fold long enough to acquit himself bravely and honorably before retiring to his family and his law.

_the winter air chilling sweat-slicked flesh every time the blankets fell away as he_

How different a course the war might have taken without his tactical savvy at Yorktown.

_the first he dared ask if the continued refusal of a field command were on account of_ that _night_

How different a course the war might have taken had he yielded to the pleas earlier.

_his realization, damned if he does, damned if he doesn’t, because pride is a fickle creature and_

How different a course the war might have taken had he possessed the self-control to avoid the mess altogether.

_a sharp word and a resolve crumbled and_ so we part _with a heartache the others could scarce fathom._

x---x

 

It is with an inevitability that has naught to do with Morris’s tacit refusal and blunt advice that finds George on the doorstep of the Hamilton house the next morning.

A servant sees him inside; takes his hat and his coat before Eliza surfaces to offer tea, a baby on her hip and another young child half-hidden in her skirts, and it is warm and domestic and everything Alexander deserves and nothing he thought he would ever have, during a grueling and brutal war.

“I shan’t impose any more than I already have done in calling upon you unannounced; I wonder if I might find an audience with Mister Hamilton.”

She smiles at him, eyes crinkling in amusement. “You might, General Washington, but you shan’t be the only one.”

A cryptic answer, but her meaning is more readily understood as he approaches Alexander’s study and hears the scamper of quick feet and delighted giggles. Eliza pushes into the cluttered space and props a hand on the hip opposite the baby. “Philip, you said you’d mind your sister and let your father work.”

Alexander looks unfazed by the chaos, head bowed low over a heavy tome while Angelica perches in his lap. “He’s learning my shelving system.”

Eliza coughs softly. “Alexander?”

He looks around, and then sits up a little straighter and slides glasses off his nose before sliding his daughter from his lap. “General, sir. _Mister President_ ,” he amends with a spark of old mischief as he rises. “Philip, take your sister.”

Eliza closes the door as she leads the children off; leaves George hovering just inside the threshold, Alexander watching him silently from where he still stands by the desk.

He opens his mouth, but the question dissolves on his lips, in all of its inevitability, for if he is so bold as to fathom possessing the measure of Alexander, then Alexander most assuredly has the full measure of _him,_ and he can only find it in himself to say like a plea, an apology – “I know it’s a lot to ask.”

His gaze drifts sideways; like he’s following the movements of his family behind the door.

And with a single deep breath – a mask of familiar old resolve settles over him. Alexander steps forward, slowly, until he’s peering up at George’s face and he simply says –

“Treasury or State?”


End file.
